Misprize
by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa
Summary: Sephiroth hated color. Yet there he was, his aquamarine eyes and red hair. Innocent death. Sephiroth/Reno /For Amarissia/


Misprize

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Author Notes: Yes, misprize is a word. I'm not to the point where I need to start making up new words. It'll probably happen eventually, but we're not to that point, yet. As for this story, this is a Sephiroth/Reno. Yeah, how often do you see one of those? Not much, I can tell you as much. But, I wanted to give it a shot.

**Dedicated:** This story is dedicated to Amarissia, because she is epic. No questions needed. But, I did want to somehow make myself feel a little better after reading her non-con Seph/Reno. But, it was still amazing.

Disclaimer: I, Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-, do not own, think I own, or will ever own Final Fantasy VII or its compilations. I write this because not many will, and it makes me feel nice.

* * *

Misprize

Sephiroth didn't like colors.

He had grown up around the starch white of his bedding; the black eyes of Hojo; the red of his own blood; the silver of his hair; the green of the mako in his veins; the yellow of the pasty meals he would eat; the blue of the water he tried to drown himself in; the pink of the pills he swallowed; and the orange of the sun he had never seen.

It never surprised him that he came out of the labs with a hatred for colors, anything out of the ordinary. Colors were dangerous, reminded him of times that he rather hoped would fade. There were a thousand things he could identify as evil, and while colors didn't do anything to him, they were reminders.

Turning his head, Sephiroth stared at the open-mouthed teenager laying in his bed, red hair limp on the pillow. Below his delicate eyelids were two of the brightest aquamarine eyes he had ever seen.

He was a surprise.

Reno, no family, no proper upbringing, no mako. Pure as a Turk could be.

Sephiroth sighed and licked his lips. There was a hint of something there, a taste that couldn't be explained. It was just _Reno_. Not vanilla, like Genesis, nor steel and flowers, like Angeal. Even the puppy had his own taste of cherry blossoms. But Reno, bright and colorful Reno, blood-stained Reno, was just himself.

The redhead moved closer to his body, hands snaking out of the blankets to wrap themselves around Sephiroth's arm. A soft mouth caressed the crease of his arm.

"What'cha doin'?" the boy asked, yawning.

"I hate colors," Sephiroth replied, monotone.

"Yeah... 'bout that."

Sephiroth looked to the clock on the dresser before attempting to pull his arms away from the Turk. They would not budge.

"I get that you an' me aren't like, official or nuthin', and I ain't expectin' that ta ever happen." Reno's fingers were gripping his arm to the point that Sephiroth could see the sickly green mako pushing forth. "But, y'know? This isn't so bad. I like it this way. No crazy stalkers, no questions, and even though you hate colors, you do like my hair." The boy smiled at that, wistful.

Innocent in a way that Sephiroth couldn't understand.

"It would be best if you returned to your rooms." Reno's hands faltered, and Sephiroth took a moment to pry the boy's hand from his skin. There was a mako bruise. "I believe that your superior stated last night that under no terms were you to be late for your meeting this morning. You have twenty minutes. I would suggest you do not take the stairs."

Sephiroth hadn't expected the hand that had unwrapped from his arm to come back, swinging. The punch hit him square in the lip and his head went back, smacking into the headboard.

"I'm not a play thing, y'know. I didn't come back here jus' so we could fuck. I ain't that kinda guy. So, I think _you _should get outta here."

"It's my apartment, Turk," Sephiroth answered coolly, looking down at the very angry, very flustered, boy. He was bleeding a little, a red stream down into his hair. "I cannot begin to comprehend how you believe that a quick fuck grants you permission to forcefully remove me from my room." But there was no malice in his words, no glare, no sign of a desire to have Reno leave. Just...something different. Something trying to get a different reaction out of the redhead.

Something almost new. Innocent, even though the hardening dick between Reno's legs was a clear signal to anyone that this boy with his red hair was far from innocent. Masochistic little fuck. He seemed to enjoy confrontation. It aroused him, made his body ache; it was a drug that enhanced his mind, sharpening each nerve. Yet, Reno's eyes, their bright aquamarine color, they told Sephiroth that no, he wasn't weak, but yes, he wanted to be held. Not thrown away. Anything would be better than that.

Reno's hand came flying out again, but Sephiroth grabbed the boy's wrist, bending it backwards, pinning it to the soft pillow. It was like a cushion between their worlds. Both were killers, both had their bodies tattooed with Shinra's mark: not on the skin, but seeping through them at sluggish speeds. Death used their bodies as a canvas. Reno used his body like a canvas.

Innocent death, how it loved its sweet mourning.

Reno's hand clenched and unclenched, like the jaws of a bird trying to catch the worm hanging from its mother's beak. Yet, Sephiroth only placed a little more pressure on the skin, enough to almost hear the tinkling of bones grinding together, but not quite to the point on anguishing pain. Sephiroth knew his boundaries; he toed them, testing the strength, never putting too much on it. Reno was still fragile, no matter the tough exterior he tried to show.

"Le' go of me, you sun'ovabitch! I ain' your play thing; you've made that quite clear. So," Reno said as he attempted to headbutt Sephiroth, only succeeding in making himself bleed, "let me go!" His erection was at half-mast, but the blood was flowing.

Sephiroth hated the thick red running down Reno's lips, spreading through the cracks. There were always cracks in Reno's lips. The boy have a compulsion with licking them. During any Turk meeting, Sephiroth would watch Reno lick his lips once, twice, three and four times every minute. It was a problem the boy had, a tick that Sephiroth wanted to get rid of permanently. Those lips were a little too harsh, a little too rocky. They weren't boy's lips: they were man lips.

That wasn't what Sephiroth wanted the boy with his red hair and greenish blue eyes. That wasn't what he wanted at all.

There was no such thing as an innocent man.

Leaning forward, hands still pressing into Reno's arms, Sephiroth twisted out of the way as a few strands of red hair clashed with his silver. It didn't look bad, but still not natural. Colors weren't natural. They were just a little more of a reminder of something that he didn't want to know anything about.

"Are you aware that there are over five thousand shades of red? Probably more, if you consider the slight mix of colors, the ratios a little different. Any person with a new crayon or a strand of hair." At this Sephiroth allows his hand to ease from Reno's wrist. A little painting of an exploding blue flower marked the place his bones pushed against the surface. "They have a unique color. And I loathe that, Turk."

Sephiroth let go of the boy's wrist with a jerky movement. He was done with playing. This innocence wasn't his forte: he destroyed far too tainted souls. Not ones with even a sliver of purity left. Getting up from the bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist, the SOLDIER heaved a sigh. "Fine, then. You may stay here. But not right now. Tseng is not a compliant man when it comes to his Turks, I hope you have become acquainted with his punishments—"

Something crashed into him, pulling him down into the soft white carpet. It was a tangle of blood and red and green, pale skin and bright pink. A hand pulled the sheet down and there was a slick sound, the sound of spitting in a hand, of coating soft skin, of pressing hard against a body that wasn't fully erect. But, it was going to get there is Reno kept up those ministrations.

"Fuck me," Reno said, harsher than his lips, or the dribble of blood splattering Sephiroth's hair. His eyes were shining: it was almost like there was mako there. Reno's hand fumbled harder with Sephiroth cock. "Fuck me, for Holy sakes. I can't stomach one more sec' without—" he didn't finish his sentence. Sephiroth felt his entire body swallowed as Reno impaled himself upon the erection. A wooshing sound, a startled gasp and a curse, and Reno grabbed the man's shoulders, holding him down. "Yes... Please."

There was still innocence in his eyes, that yearning desire for something more than just a...

"Reno," Sephiroth tried to say, but all that came was a breathy moan from above him, the boy holding him down, not letting him move. It was almost as if he were the submissive in this act, that slick, warm fingers were prodding his insides. That at each bend of a finger, each moan, it was he whose body was puckered, wanting more. Another inch, another slick finger, another tight pull on his testicles as a drip of lubrication slid from his insides out. He was the one with his arms pinned down, the bottom, even though he was top.

"Shh," Reno whispered, one hand playing with the bloody silver hair. Thick tresses sticky with Reno's blood. Red against silver, the color almost pink. Their bodies met, each slap of skin against the other a chime of something breaking. Glass, ice, sculptures, and hearts. A little tinkling of something breaking. A wall of stone, carved with intricate little baby angels, their cherubic faces splicing down the middle.

Sephiroth opened his eyes, only to see that ignorance, that thick wall of angels, still carved into Reno's eyes.

A misprize. It was something he so despised, but could not break. Refused to break. Like Reno's aquamarine eyes.

It was then that he noticed that it wasn't Reno who was shattering, but himself.

And the colors bled.

There was a stinging to his eyes as he came, one hand digging into his arm, the other touching his face, his hair. There was drying blood underneath the fingernails and Sephiroth wondered: Is this was exposure felt like? It this what innocence is? Is this feeling, this milky substance spilling out of the red-haired boy his salvation? This color-infested world, it was Sephiroth's. It was his to watch, his to hold, his to spear and castrate and destroy, but also to cherish and love and yearn for.

Sephiroth acknowledged that he hated colors.

But he did love Reno's eyes.

It didn't matter that in a few minutes Tseng would barge in, pointing his gun at Reno's head, telling him to get dressed. Their blood smeared across each others mouths, a lipstick that softened the boy's harsh desert lips. It didn't matter that the President would become aware that there was more going on than simple fucking. It didn't matter, Sephiroth knew, that Turks and SOLDIERS hated one another. That his men would not approve.

Because that misprized boy was his.

Innocent death, how Sephiroth adored him.

* * *

**  
Did you all understand the end? I hope it wasn't too abstract to understand. I was really playing with the idea that the colors are Reno, and Reno is innocence. Did that all makes sense? And, dare I ask, was it hot? Once again, thank you Ammy for the Seph/Reno angst non-con. **

**Please Review!**


End file.
